Rebirth
by Shizuku Tsukishima749
Summary: -LWW Movieverse/Bookverse AU.- With Peter's memory gone, Edmund Jadis' prisoner, and Susan in hiding with the Beavers, Maugrim is sent to kill the only Pevensie left to be a threat. Yet, when he finally catches her, why does he let her go?
1. Finding Narnia

_A/N: _This is an AU, Maugrim/Lucy friendship story taking place throughout the majority of LWW. Now, before you say anything, the idea comes from a You Tube video entitled 'Maugrim/Lucy- Rebirthing' by natthenarnian. I watched it last night and _loved _it, so I immediately asked if I could write the fanfic on it, and I was given permission! Therefore, you have this! This goes along with the plot of the vid, though I am adding my own spin to things. If you like this, I'd love for you to check out the vid! It's _so amazing_!

As for LWW itself, I mixed both bookverse and movieverse here. The AU parts really don't start until later, so if you're thinking I'm just paraphrasing the book and movie (with neither in front of me, by the way), I admit that I am...but only to get you set, I swear! Plus, there are a _few _things I've added, and I _did _use a few lines directly from the movie (the ones used in the vid, which I thought they fit really well), so it's not _all _the same, I promise you!

_Disclaimer_: C.S. Lewis, Walden Media, and Fox own the Chronicles of Narnia. I, unfortunately, do not, though it is my one and only love. I _did_, however, get to read an excerpt from VDT in my Honors English class this week, and I nearly _died _from joy (and _nobody _can take that away from me)! Also for English, I made a mask depicting the four Pevensies and Aslan, so _ha_! lol.

* * *

**Rebirth**

There are many things to do in a situation such as theirs.

They can go back, turn straight around and return to the bright, though lonely warmth of the spare room on the other side of the wardrobe.

They can keep going, trust the strangely _Talking_ Beaver and brave this wondrous new land.

They can continue on, help the Animal as he needs it—for his expression does look quite anxious, so he must need some sort of assistance (but then, they might merely look absurd).

Besides, after stepping through a wardrobe into a vast white wonderland, one your sister insisted was real all along, all sense of moral direction is expected to have gone a bit haywire.

Peter looks to his sister now as she stares at and fingers her soft, cream-colored handkerchief; apparently, it is the very one she gave to her Faun friend, Mr. Tumnus, upon first entering this place…whatever it's called…it was with an 'n'…_Narnia_! Yes, that was it.

"Lucy," his voice is gentle, and as she slowly brings her eyes up to his, his breath hitches painfully at the broken, pale countenance that is her face, "Lu, it's all right. We'll—" he turns to their Beaver friend, "—well, what do _you_ propose we do, sir?"

"I _propose _we get out of the open, Son of Adam, before _They _hear!" His words are not harsh, just deeply worried, and Peter's face scrunches in puzzlement. Why did he insist on calling the boy such a queer thing, and who are 'They?'

The Creature backs up slowly, beckoning them to follow, and the children turn their heads to Lucy; she has always been the best judge of character. She hurriedly begins to go after him, and there is nothing for them to do except trail behind.

It is silent on the long walk, which gives Peter time to think.

His little Lucy had always been the truth-teller of the family, and the fact that he'd actually sided with _Edmund _on something this important—though at the time it _had_ seemed pretty insane—sickens him. Then, to make matters worse, within their first few seconds here he'd found out Edmund had _lied _about being here before…!

Inwardly, he groans quietly as he presses his thumb and forefinger to his closed eyes. The ten-year-old is out of control, and Peter predicts it's _really_ going to get him in trouble one of these days…

Susan cannot fathom this place, and the tight grip on his hand says so well enough. She is scared, he knows that, but she knows as well as he that there is no way he would ever let anything happen to her, their brother, or their sister. He loves them far too much for that, and he would rather any sort of danger strike and take him down before any one of them.

Lucy is anxious, mostly because this friend she's made seems to be in great danger. He wishes he could do something, but he does not know enough about this place to be of any help.

Besides, something had been off with the note they'd found in the Faun's home.

He still remembers the paw-print and name at the end—the mark that of a wolf, and the given signature of one called 'Maugrim.' Curious, really, that such a place would have need for a 'Secret Police,' and the wolf-print poses the question of any other human residing here. So far, all they've seen or heard of are Animals and Humanoid Creatures...

A shout from the Beaver startles him, and he grips Susan's hand suddenly, making her squeak. Shooting her an apologetic glance, he looks ahead and realizes why they've stopped. In front of them, in the middle of a frozen lake, there is a tiny, nearly finished dam. Peter grins for the third time since coming here.

"Come on, you lot! The Missus'll be waitin' for us." Mr. Beaver chuckles as he affectionately speaks of his wife, and Peter spies the corners of Susan's lips lift.

Gazing ahead again, Peter's stomach abruptly clenches as Lucy scrambles unconcernedly across the ice in her excitement, but he calms when, once she makes it halfway, Mr. Beaver reaches up to take her hand and lead her safely across the rest.

Edmund follows after, grumpy and moody as always, shuffling his feet and kicking the snow in his path as it incessantly falls around them and threatens to cover the ice.

Transferring Susan's hand into his free one and wrapping his other arm around her waist, the eldest children eventually make it to the other side.

Opening the door of the dam for her, she smiles faintly and steps inside. The moment Peter enters himself and turns after closing the door, he is pleasantly astonished by what he sees. The dam is definitely a little cramped for the six of them, especially with the necessary furniture and any number of interesting knick-knacks adorning the walls and ceiling, but the Beavers themselves do not take up nearly as much space as the children.

Edmund stiffly declines the offer of tea from Mrs. Beaver and only half listens as a conversation unfolds between his siblings and the couple.

The gooey, powdery taste of Turkish Delight plagues his every thought, haunts his taste buds, and he does not know how he can go another second without more. Why do these wretched Animals insist on keeping them here when they are obviously in a hurry?

The woman he'd met earlier had been so gorgeous, and he revels in the beauty his mind recreates. He wishes to see her again, to be in her kind company again, and his desire to be away from here only heightens.

Then, a name and phrase break into his thoughts for an unknown reason: "Aslan is on the move."

He sees his family's faces brighten, but all he knows is the incredibly sick feeling in his stomach. He tries to quell the reaction by not thinking of it, ignoring the rest of the male Beaver's words. He has made his decision. He will not wait any longer.

Hanging his thick coat from one of the few unoccupied hooks protruding from the ceiling, he opens the door as silently as possible and creeps through, scowling one last time at his siblings and the Beavers before closing the door noiselessly.

Almost immediately, the chill of the winter air attacks him in the form of wind, and though he suddenly wishes he hadn't left his coat behind, he quickly reminds himself that it had been his sole hope of escape.

His teeth chatter as he starts walking toward the palace between the two, mountain peaks. Wrapping his arms around himself, he disregards the snow and frigid air by focusing on the Turkish Delight he shall have when he finds her citadel.

He walks for a long time, and he wonders if he will ever arrive. Realizing he hasn't looked up from the ground to be sure of his direction for a while, and he is amazed to see a fortress of ice a little ways in front of him when he does. He trudges down a hill and across a field until he reaches it, pausing before the raised-gate threshold to the castle's courtyard.

He does not dare touch the ice that makes up the castle, for he is already so cold he cannot feel his hands or his feet. He is scared to enter, but he does anyway, fighting down the chill that courses up and down his spine.

He is busy looking at the architecture of the Lady's home when he unexpectedly smashes into something solid and frozen to the touch. He opens his eyes to see what he'd hit and barely catches himself in a scream.

Before him is a Lion in a pouncing position—though not _the _Lion, of course—and he runs to hide behind a wall a few paces back. Peeking out, it takes him a few moments to understand that the Creature is just a statue, that it will not roar in anger and proceed to snap his neck in its mighty jaws.

A little braver now, he continues onward through the courtyard, seeing several other statues of Animals left and right. Soon, there is light filling a doorway at the far end, and he hurries, the ideas of being warm and receiving more of his beloved treat driving him.

He is so wrapped up in such thoughts that he stops paying attention to his surroundings, as is made obvious when he is suddenly met with a vicious snarl and finds himself flat on his back, an eyeful of furry face and sharp, bared teeth not registering immediately. When it does, he opens his mouth to call for help, but he does not get the chance as the Wolf parts its jaws ferociously.

"Do not cry out, Son of Adam. No one hears a trespasser in the Queen's castle." Edmund says nothing, brown eyes wide and mouth agape as he breathes slowly and deeply; this Wolf is _speaking_ to him! If Susan were here— He stops, not particularly wanting to think of his elder siblings at the moment, especially when they wouldn't follow him and only listened to _Lucy_… "Now, will you leave quietly, or must I _make _you?" Another menacing growl, and Edmund again loses his nerve.

Yet, the hot breath has an almost thawing effect on his lips, and at last he makes his move.

"She called me here, I swear! The Queen of Narnia, she asked me to come!" The Wolf edges closer, so much so that his nose is a hair's breadth away from Edmund's cheek, and the ten-year-old turns his head away out of fear. Finally, the Beast pulls back with a rough laugh and, to the boy's amazement, removes his weight from on top of Edmund's with a Wolf-smile.

"So, you're the lucky Human who got her Turkish Delight! Right this way, my good man." There is a friendlier tone to his gruff voice, and Edmund stays where he is for a minute in wonderment before picking himself up and following the Animal inside.

The castle's interior is a little warmer and far grander than anything outside, and he is soon led into the throne room. Before him, the Queen sits on her throne, one made of ice like the rest of the castle, and the Wolf bows before taking his leave. After being fixated with her beauty for several moments, Edmund finally remembers himself and drops to one knee in a bow, head down.

"Edmund, my dear, stand, stand!" She sweeps from her throne and pastes on a smile, one even he would have recognized as fake if his eyes had not been directed toward the ground. "A Prince and eventual King of Narnia does not bow to his Queen!" She grips Edmund's arms with surprising strength and lifts him into the air, settling his feet on the ground and smoothing his brown sweater. Then, she looks behind him and, face falling, she asks, "But Edmund, dear, where are your brother and sisters?"

Suddenly, Edmund does not feel as brave anymore, and he drops his eyes to the floor as his cheeks redden in disgrace; he should have something _more _to tell this beautiful Lady!

"They—" he stutters, "—they wouldn't come with me, ma'am. I tried, really, I did, but they wouldn't listen to me!" He hopes she understands, and he thinks she does as her face remains in its same, contentedly expectant expression.

But it all shatters when, without warning, she strikes him severely across the face, causing him to stumble backward and nearly hit his head on an ice pillar. Ignoring the cold, he rushes behind it and presses his back against it, his breathing heavy and eyes filling with tears as one of his hands hovers over the stinging, scorching-hot cheek she'd just hit.

What is happening? Was this some kind of cruel joke? Was she testing him? There must be something—

He cannot finish as, abruptly, an inhumanly strong, pale-as-paste hand grips his collar and pulls him around the pillar. He is face-to-face with his beautiful Ice Queen, and he truly sees how she became known to the Narnians—and now his siblings and himself—as the White Witch.

"How _dare _you?" Her voice is a cold whisper, and he struggles in terrified vain to get away. Now a powerful, shrill scream: "How _dare _you come _alone_? I toldyou to come _only_ if they are with you, and what do you bring me?" He is thankful it is a rhetorical question, for he has neither the voice nor the valiance to offer an answer.

Her grip tightens and, fearing another slap across the face, his desperate mouth is moving before he even knows what he is saying.

"I—I did bring them halfway, to the Beavers' house! That was as far as I could convince them!"

The mood in the room changes, and there is some sort of pink in her face as she throws him carelessly to the floor. He lands roughly, sliding a few feet on the smooth surface and splitting open his right forearm on a razor-sharp edge of ice that sticks up from the floor. It is not the only imperfection in this house, it would seem.

As the 'Queen' turns her head and appears to have completely left him to his own devices, he plans to run, but he freezes as the Dwarf that had driven her sleigh appears and harshly yanks him to his feet. He holds a long, curved blade to Edmund's back and pushes him forward, meaning to steer him to the dungeons, the boy is sure. However, the little man pauses in his mission a moment when the woman raises a white hand.

She has resumed sitting on her throne and, turning to the left of it, she calls out a single name in a steely voice: "Maugrim?" Edmund watches as the familiar Wolf from earlier steps up beside her, and the next words bring horror to the boy's heart. "You know what to do."

The Wolf nods, yellow eyes flickering to Edmund as the Creature's smile turns to a malevolent smirk, and he throws his head back to let out a piercing, soul-gripping howl. Edmund's eyes widen as numerous Wolves reveal themselves, and he wishes to be as far away from here as possible.

It is not for him that he thinks this thing, however.

No, it is for the siblings he wishes he could warn, for the siblings he now knows he has betrayed and, therefore, probably just sentenced to death.

Tears fill his eyes again, and they blur his vision so much that he does not see Maugrim lead his pack into the night.

* * *

_A/N: _Thanks for reading, as always!


	2. Descent of Night and Hunter

_A/N: _This is where the AU really begins! Prepare yourselves!

* * *

"I'm sorry, but we've got to get home," Susan says in a guilty, disbelieving voice. She cannot stand leaving people in need, but these are _Beavers—Talking _Beavers, no less! They are only _kids_, besides! There is nothing _they _can do, never mind some nonsense about a prophecy!

She is just happy when Peter agrees with her.

"Edmund, come on. We're leaving." Looking around, though, the younger boy is nowhere to be found, and panic seizes Peter. "_Ed_?" The others grow worried now, and though he knows there is nowhere to hide in the small dam, he tries one more time. "_Edmund_?"

He turns, annoyed and startled at once, to face the two Beavers. Mr. Beaver's visage takes on a peculiar mix of wisdom and pain.

"Has your brother been to Narnia before? Without you, or perhaps there was a time you were separated from him?"

The elder siblings turn to Lucy, who blanches as her eyes widen. Bursting with renewed fire, she rushes for the door, throws it open, and makes to sprint across the ice.

Strong, slender arms wrap around the waist before she can get too far, however, and she struggles against them wildly, squirming and kicking every which way until her withholder has no choice but to fall to his knees.

There are tears running down her face, and she is almost crazed with fear for her brother.

"Let me _go_, Peter!" she cries, still writhing desperately in his iron grip. "He's gone to _Her_! We have to get to him!"

"What has he _done_, Lu?" her brother demands, entirely thrown and flailing for some semblance of control. "Who is _She_?"

Quite abruptly, Lucy calms and shifts in his arms until she is facing him, watery eyes boring into his.

"She says she's the Queen of Narnia, but she isn't. She's really the White Witch, the same who made it always winter here and never Christmas. _This _is the 'evil time' from the prophecy, Peter," her eyes have taken on a very adult, almost queenly light during this, and Peter feels his breath stop in wonder, "and _She _is the one Aslan says we'll end." She takes a deep breath, and when she speaks again her quiet voice is darker than he's ever heard it. "She's taken Edmund in, Peter. We _have_ to stay, for Edmund's sake."

In the background, the Beavers simply stare at the little girl, their faces alight with grim admiration.

Susan, on the other hand, is outright worried. Could her sister have gone insane in their little time here, or perhaps the two other times she's come?

But no. This is about _Edmund_, and no matter how horrid he is to her, Lucy always loves him. She would never play with the unsaid, itching word—_betrayal_—with him.

Then, a ripping howl stabs the frosty air, and all present stiffen. Mr. and Mrs. Beaver's ears perk up, and the children's faces lose nearly all traces of color.

Peter stands, taking tight hold of both Lucy and Susan's hands. "It's the Secret Police, isn't it? The same that took Mr. Tumnus?"

Multiple howls start up, much closer this time and in want of blood, and Mr. Beaver answers Peter anxiously,

"Yes, Son of Adam, it is, which is why we have to get a move on straight away!" Looking to his wife, he says knowingly, patting her hand, "Don't worry anything now, dear. We'll figure it out later."

The She-Beaver takes another look at their house, unsettled at the thought of it being destroyed in the Wolves' wake, but relaxes at the loving, strengthening paw encompassing hers. Glancing at her husband, she quickly nods and turns to close the door.

"All right! Let's hurry!"

The children follow as the Beavers scamper away to the East, the two making plans amongst themselves to turn South toward Aslan's Camp once they're past the rumored location of the Witch's Encampment.

Suddenly, the howls are vibrating the company's ears almost painfully, the sounds' owners practically on top of them, and the Humans and Beavers quicken their pace while swerving to the North. They hear the patter of dog-like paws behind them.

They'll never make it if they keep going on like this, and they are no help to anyone dead.

Peter takes a deep breath.

He knows what he has to do.

He lets go of his sisters' hands…and falls.

"_Peter_!" the girls' frantic voices call out, and he panics himself when they begin to rush back to him.

Blue eyes wide and face as white as the snow beneath him, he shouts, "Go on! I'll try to draw them off!" They stare at him like he's gone plumb loony, but he glares at them, desperate to have them safe as tears blind him and cause a tremor in his voice. "_Go, _Susan!"

Heartbroken with tears streaming, Susan backs up, grabs Lucy's hand—the tiny eight-year-old appears about to be having a nervous breakdown at the very notion of leaving him—and turns away, dragging a screaming Lucy behind as the Beavers, though horror-struck and feeling they are intensely waning in their responsibility, lead them forward.

To safety, Peter prays.

Scrambling to his knees, he is only too aware of the sniffing and hard panting that comes from all around him not ten seconds later. Unsurprised to see the pack of Wolves flanking him on all sides when he looks up, he cannot see why they don't just kill him here and now. After all, that is their mission, is it not?

"Ah ha," roughly chuckles one Wolf, and as the others' faces morph to mirror his, Peter knows this must be Maugrim. "I admit I was expecting more of a fight from a Son of Adam," yellow eyes glint, and Peter doesn't know if he will like his next words, "but then, your fool of a brother was not so difficult either."

At the mention of Edmund, Peter feels a fiery urge to demand answers as to his condition, but remembers such information will be of no use to him if he dies here. With this in mind, he takes a step backward, only to feel sharp nips at his ankles. The Wolves are edging closer, locking him in their tight circle of certain death, and he wonders vaguely if this foolish plan could have been better thought through in the little time he'd had to formulate it.

He waits for the pounces, for the jaws to rip into him—

"Secret Police to the Queen of Narnia! Hail the Lady Jadis!" Peter opens his tightly closed eyes and dares to breathe again, if shortly, at the sight of a small Talking Fox padding over to them. Maugrim turns to the Animal, and the rest keep their eyes on Peter as the Fox barks, "I've spotted them, the Daughters of Eve!"

At this, Peter feels faint. His sisters… _Please_… Aslan help them!

"You're sure?" The Wolf appears skeptical, eyes searching the smaller Beast's. "Aren't you just a _traitor_?" On the last word, Maugrim growls, and the Fox lowers his head a little in submission as he narrows his eyes.

"You know well where my loyalties lay, Wolf. Must you always question me?"

The Captain lifts his head and exhales huffily through his nose in a superior gesture. "You can never tell with..._your _Kind."

"An unfortunate family resemblance," the Fox bites back, then proceeds to throw his head to the South to indicate their intended direction. "Now, are you after them or not?"

Maugrim continues to study him for a moment, but nods curtly.

Turning to his pack, he utters gruffly, "Most of you, with me. The rest—" his eyes roam maliciously over Peter's stock-still form, "—take care of the Human."

Raising a paw, the Wolf claws the Fox across the face, but Maugrim pays the alarmed yelp no mind. Rather, he howls to arrogantly warn the prey of their inevitable deaths before racing southward, the chosen of his pack following swiftly after him.

Though blood drips from the four deep scratches across the Fox's cheek to dye the white snow dark red, he does not seem to feel the pain. Instead, his one-brown-and-one-blue eyes gaze up into Peter's orbs, and the boy almost forgets himself.

The Fox had risked his life to—with luck—save Peter's; he had fooled them, as it would seem he had done many times before; he is on their side, on _Aslan's _side.

Willing his gratefulness to show in his eyes, Peter turns to assess his current position. The five Wolves left to him are growling, the hairs on their backs erect, and they have already begun to fall back on their haunches.

A shrill, long whistle interjects, and the Wolves whine as they fold their ears flat against their heads. The Fox looks to him meaningfully as his mouth exerts the saving sound, and Peter understands that this distraction is the Animal's way of giving him time to escape.

Pleading silently for the kind Fox's safety, Peter takes his chance and dashes away to the North. The Wolves are torn for a moment between traitor and Human, but they each tear into the small Beast's side with both forepaws prior to going after their assignment.

After they are gone, a tiny gray Rabbit hurriedly hops over to the fallen Fox, who bleeds heavily from his honorable wounds. She would take him inside, but knows it is unsafe to move one so injured so soon.

Kneeling beside him as only a Talking Rabbit can do, she ignores the gushing blood and gently dabs both bloodied cheek and side with a white cloth damp with medicine. Her face is as caringly sad as her voice as she speaks.

"Dear Tailin…" she whispers. "Still too pure for your own good."

She laughs softly, lovingly, and though it is not as joyful as her friend remembers, he appreciates the merry sound. Smiling through the sting the medicine brings, he addresses,

"You are not so undamaged yourself, Friend." He pauses, tracing with knowing eyes the back of her neck, where a long, jagged scar lingers under shorter, darker fur. Quieter now, his voice is rueful as he manages, "I have missed this, Avira."

The Rabbit's healing paw slows, and he does his best to catch her eye at this odd angle. She is tired, he realizes, has lived a hard and lonely life in his absence, and he wishes for the millionth time that he hadn't left all those years ago, that there might have been another way. He's missed her—her smile, her _real _laugh, her compassionate nature, _everything_.

"I've missed you, too. Very, very much."

Her eyes are bright with tears as her soft voice shakes with them, and his heart feels like it's been turned to stone by the Witch's very Wand. Though it hurts him dearly, he shifts so he can properly see her and reaches upward with a tender paw, laying it on her furry cheek as his two-toned eyes smolder.

"You know why I did it, Avira. It was the only chance given."

She smiles, adoring him all the more for the way he makes her so simultaneously forlorn and joyful, and places her free paw over the one of his that cups her cheek so sweetly.

"I know, dear. I know."

The night wind swirls snow about them, and a far-off cry of a young boy makes the pair stiffen. The She-Rabbit grips the He-Fox's paw as his eyes narrow in grief. She knows what he is thinking.

"You will be well soon enough," she comforts, grinning, but it does not come close to reaching her eyes. Her friend has the dreaded feeling he knows where she's going with this. "Then, you may chase them down and do the boy justice, if that be your wish…" in her voice, there is a warmth he has desired to hear since seeing her beautiful face after so long, and his cheeks flush with care, "…as I believe has always been your drive, Tailin."

It has been his life's mission to work on both sides of the court, if only to stay alive to see the day when the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve Aslan prophesied come to relieve Narnia of the horror that is the White Witch.

And finally, today, he has done it.

This Rabbit, his best friend of so many, many years, knows him better than anyone, and this is made truer than ever with just those last nine words.

In this, then, it would seem they have not grown so far apart as all that.

"Thank Aslan…" he breathes, relaxing into contented sleep in the snow.

"My dear, silly Love…" Avira chuckles fondly, planting a kiss on his forehead.

Already, the medicine seems to be helping his wounds. He should be ready to trail his charges—the blond boy first, of course, as the others should be safe enough in the care of the Beavers—in half a day or so, at most.

She does not mind, not really. At least, that is what she tells herself. All the while, she cannot erase the hurt that plagues her heart each time she thinks on it. It is too painful…

So, instead, she keeps her eyes fixed on his face.

She loves him for a reason, and though the years without him have been dark and lonesome, that reason has never been lost to her.

He is righteous.

He is cunning.

He is loving.

He is beautiful.

He is _hers_.

And if this is all she can earn from it for now—a beaten, sorry imitation of the Fox she once knew—she will take it as it comes.

Besides…Aslan is on the move, the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve are finally here after one hundred harsh years…something Tailin has been fighting and tricking all his life to see…

Soon, _Her_ Time will be over and done.

She can feel it.

* * *

Peter runs as fast as he can, the snow being tossed up in flurries behind his flying feet. He can hear the angry panting and dangerous growls of his hunters on his heels, and he pushes himself to go quicker.

His path is nothing more than trees and snow, and he is glad.

All the while, he prays fervently for his sisters and the kind Beaver pair so devoted to them. They _cannot _be found just yet. He wouldn't be able to live with it…

These thoughts grip his mind, his every thought, and it is for this reason that he is not prepared for the sharp cries of the Wolves behind him. Daring to turn back even as he never slows his pace, he is astonished to see a Tree _moving_, looking as if to crush the Wolves as the branches repeatedly smash the white ground between them and him.

They cannot get to him like this, nor can they go around the Tree, for there are Trees of His all around—just as many as Hers, if not more—and They will come to the boy's aid undoubtedly, now that They've been awoken to who Peter is.

It would not be until days later that he would meet the very Oak Hamadryad that had begun the charge to save his life, but he would recognize the young spirit as soon as he laid eyes on him.

Despite himself, he smiles in indebtedness, but does not watch his footing. Thus, he lets out a shriek as his next step fails to connect with anything solid, and he finds himself tumbling forward and down.

He sees a thick layer of snow several feet below him, the clean drop-off from which he is currently falling as he looks back, and it is all he knows before he closes his eyes in anticipation of the impact.

Yet, the landing is not as gentle as he expects, as he falls and falls only for his head and later body to connect with something so hard that he would later swear it was diamond. For now, he is knocked out cold almost immediately and therefore does not register the fact that he finds himself on Narnian ice.

* * *

As night descends, Peter's assailants are powerless to do as they have been told, and as of yet, the remainder of the Secret Police has accomplished nothing.

The self-appointed Queen of Narnia—the White Witch, Jadis of Charn—will not be pleased.

* * *

_A/N: _In the scheme of things, I want to know what you thought of the catharsis involving Tailin and Avira. While the names are my invention, as well as Avira entirely, you may remember that the character of the Fox was a made-up character who appeared in the Disney/Walden version of LWW. I merely borrowed him, elaborated on him for my own purposes, and gave him a long-lost lover of a species lower in the food chain.

For that, I have an explanation: Lewis gave the impression that things applied to the real world don't always take part in Narnia, so I figured I could slide by. XD

So, what did you think?

(Oh, and for those who have watched Syfy's _Alice_, you may recognize the allusion to Hatter's choice to fight alongside the Resistance for Wonderland's freedom, the whole 'I've lived my life working for both sides of the court... It was the only way I could survive' deal-I thought it fit Tailing quite nicely, seeing as he and Hatter share the same theme.)

Thanks for reading, as always!


	3. Condition

_A/N: _This chapter looks at all four siblings, respectively (Su and Lu's are together, as one): Peter first, then Ed, then the girls.

I just revamped all of these (minor changes; corrections to dialogue - after _months _of teaching myself, I've finally got it down! - smoothing things out, etc.), by the way! Not very noticeable, but I thought I'd let you know anyway!

* * *

Normally, of course, ice is not so firm, so hidden that one does not know it from snow, but the frozen white flakes fall daily in this chilled Narnia, and as such every source of solid water is thickly blanketed in the stuff.

What's more, the place where Peter's fallen is not random. It is a Naiad's Pool, unusual in its placing and unmarked on any map, but a blessing in itself. An even brighter one, however, is that the future High King of Narnia is alive at all.

These things, as well as all past and future, come to pass by naught but the Lion's will.

What He commands will be.

As it is, a blue-green head—a girl's, deep green water plants behaving as hair as they splay down her back—pokes out from a water-level ice cave carved into the cliff-side, curious at and slightly afraid of the Wolves' howls in the distance.

Upon spying the boy's crumpled form, she gasps, leaving her shelter to rush over to him. Because she knows nothing of Human anatomy, considering there hasn't been one in Narnia for one hundred years, she gently, yet haphazardly flips him over onto his back.

Flailing in her nil knowledge, she grabs hold of his wrist by chance—or fate, rather—and pauses, two of her webbed fingers picking up a queer throbbing on the underneath side. She puts the wrist to her ear inquisitively and hears nothing…but she does _feel_.

Confusedly, she takes the appendage away and focuses on the heat she suddenly notices radiating from the boy, though her investigation is impaired because of the heavy fur coat he wears. From it, she removes the arm she holds and his other shoulder, centering in on the heat and soon finding its source.

Being a woman of water, this is particularly easy, and she lowers her head to a gradually pulsing, quietly beating organ to the right side of his chest. Perceiving the sound's slower-than-steady rhythm after a moment, she cannot help feeling it will benefit them both to get under cover.

Struggling at first, she takes him under the arms and drags him all the way into the back of her cave—thankfully, one kept from sight by a low protruding ledge—where she carefully lays him down in the warmest spot she knows.

For a minute, she knows not what to do with him. She has none of the supplies—or the ability, unquestionably—to make a fire, something she recalls is used to keep non-water Narnians warm. She also has no way of leaving this pool of hers; she has been trapped here since a short time after the Hundred-Year Winter began.

Wondering what she can do to help him, she looks at Peter again. Studying him, she brushes hesitant, tender fingers through his golden bangs, and there she feels strangely happy. She knows the reason.

Her time in this inescapable prison has been quite lonely. No other Creature knows of her presence here, for none poke around anymore, and the others of her Kind…

She remembers the day well—the day the Winter began.

She had been a child then, her friends all children as well. They had been playing together in what would become known as her Pool.

Laughing as they had splashed each other, they hadn't thought anything of the frosty wind that had come over them; it was early spring, after all, and some of the chilly winter wisps didn't wish for their fun to end just yet.

They only grew worried when it hadn't stopped blowing for a good five seconds, intensifying by the second.

With wide, frightened eyes, they'd watched as the green of the Trees on the cliff-sides above them had turned a pure white in moments, snow rapidly covering the ground as it fell from the sky in drifts. A number of them had screamed when the water began freezing on the far side, and they had only precious seconds before the ice froze their exit: a tiny waterfall enclosed in a circle of earth.

The rest of them shot through the water, up the waterfall and through the hole. She, however, had been searching the bottom of the Pool on the far side for a shiny stone, planning to use it as a birthday present for her Mother. She knew nothing of the danger.

The only thing to tip her off had been the teal-white hue coming over the water and the shadow it had cast over the Pool's floor. Looking up bemusedly, she had panicked at what was happening and made to swim toward the egress as swiftly as she could. She hadn't been quick enough, though, for the outer areas seemed to freeze faster than the middle, and her exit was gone before she had gotten even one-fourth of the way across.

Breathing through her hysteria, she'd somehow managed to grapple onto the oncoming ice and pulled herself up to be sprawled on top of it. She had stayed in that position until the entire lake was frozen, and her cave had been there when she'd opened her eyes.

Her later efforts to escape the Pool have been futile: pounding away at the unbreakable ice that encases her waterfall with her bare hands, sometimes until they bleed, and she has tried to scale the snow on the cliffs' ledges, which have proven to be untamable as her hands and feet are ever unable to gain traction.

Her people can only live fully if directly connected to water, frozen or not.

This ice is the only thing keeping her alive.

She cannot leave it.

By now, there is no telling whether her people—her friends, her _family_—are still alive…

Sighing, the Naiad watches the Human she's rescued…and just dares to fancy he might wish to be her friend, to return the favor by rescuing _her_ from this lonely darkness.

Dear Aslan, does she dare.

* * *

Hugging his knees to his chest, feeling so cold that he no longer shivers, that he is numb to the impossibly biting cold of the dungeon, Edmund cannot believe what he has done.

He has sold his family to the White Witch, and—and all for _Turkish Delight_? How could he have been so heartless?

Burying his face in his knees, he strives to keep back the tears pushing to leave his eyes. He should not be crying now, not for himself, at least. He _should_ be praying…but to whom? He hadn't gone to church since before his Father went off to war, and he isn't even sure he's _worthy _of God's mercy anymore, no matter what the scriptures say.

The tears fall then, a choked sob escaping his mouth with a gasp, and he decides to let himself go. No one is here to hear him anyway.

Or so he thinks.

"Hey, hey, hey…"

Edmund jerks up, furiously rubbing his eyes. It doesn't matter that he's humiliating himself, but just that he wants to have some sense of propriety in the presence of… Wait, who is that? He'd heard that phrase before…but only from—

"How do you know Lucy?" he cries, whipping around as far as he can with the shackles around his ankles. His face and eyes flash protectively—something he had felt for his sister long ago, but had shoved away for fear of being thought weak in front of his school friends—but they calm a bit in shock and shamed pity as his vision adjusts to the dim light and sudden change of scenery speed.

Before him is a Faun: a red-haired, red-faced, wide-eyed…_beaten_…_Faun_…!

Edmund closes his eyes tightly in the sudden torment his disgusting realization brings: this is _Mr. Tumnus_! This is _Lucy's_ friend, the one that…that had _saved _her at the expense of…well, his legs and face, to start!

The poor Narnian... His legs have been bloodied and very nearly broken, it seems, and his face has numerous gashes and bruises all over it. Edmund feels he will soon see what remains of his now nonexistent appetite.

"Are you all right?" he asks uselessly; he can't remember if another question has ever burned his throat so much.

Giving a wry laugh, the Creature gazes at him with afflicted eyes. Beneath the pain, Edmund can see that the blue eyes are kind, and they serve as an agonizing reminder of what he's done. And yet…he doesn't look away. He deserves this, warrants this horrid dawning of the pain he's caused, and he cannot understand how this Faun can stand to acknowledge him so sweetly.

Then…he realizes: he doesn't _know_!

This forces more tears from his eyes, more sobs from his throat, and he begins to cry heavily when he suddenly feels the slightest pressure on his foot. He snaps open his eyes and gives a tiny yelp, frightened at being disturbed in his misery, but he sees through his tears that the hand bears the red shade of the Faun.

Glancing up, he locks eyes with Mr. Tumnus, whose lips have turned up into a tiny grin, and Edmund doesn't know what to do or think or say.

"It—it'll be all right. This place…you get used to it." He offers an ironic chuckle, but abruptly the Faun's eyes widen, and his face seemingly cannot decide between beaming and crumbling. "You're—you're Lucy Pevensie's brother, aren't you?"

If possible, Edmund pales even more, and his breath leaves him immediately.

Oh…oh, no…not this...!

All the same, this is his _punishment_…

"Y-yes."

The Faun freezes at his stutter, at the almost inaudible quiver in his voice, and blankly stares. The young boy panics, terrified that the Narnian will _see_, and he averts his eyes, backing as far backward as he can until his back collides with the ice. He stiffens at the frigid contact, but it doesn't matter.

Mr. Tumnus's face alone and eyes are worse than anything. The only thing comparable by a far stretch is Jadis…or…or himself...

"Is your sister all right?" As he had been lost in thought, Edmund cannot fight the feeling of alarm at the sudden sharpness of the Faun's tone, never mind that it is derived from protective instinct. He shudders. "Is she_ safe_?"

The words are harsher, more desperate, this time, and it nearly destroys Edmund when he cannot do a thing except answer truthfully.

"I don't know."

He remembers the howls of the Wolves last night, how vicious _She_ had sounded in sending them after his siblings, how his heart had nearly frozen to follow Hers in realization, but he cannot speak aloud these fears. He cannot bear to bring down anyone else.

Tumnus's eyes darken, his damaged face blank as he shrinks back. Despite his well-intentioned efforts, Edmund has the distinct feeling the Humanoid can see straight through him, and he cannot control it when his shoulders slump a little.

His throat hurts.

His stomach hurts.

His body hurts.

His _heart_ hurts.

For he has hurt again.

* * *

Minutes pass, but neither the girls nor the Beavers slow their run. Though they do not hear the fear-instilling yowls in the distance, they cannot shake the paranoia. Their rewards are labored breathing and exhausted limbs, but there is nothing else for it. If they stop or slow down, they're dead; the only way to survive is to keep running, no matter that they feel they could collapse at any moment and never get up again.

They're so _tired_…

But Peter hadn't led the predators off for that, hadn't run blindly—and stupidly, Susan adds in retrospect—for that. He wants them safe, and his sister, only a year his junior, will do anything in her power to make sure that happens.

"Come on, Lucy! We have to keep moving!" the eldest Human calls breathlessly to the youngest, Susan's pale countenance a dreadful shade of crimson, eyes wild as terror drives her to quite literally dragging the small girl by the hand.

Lucy, meanwhile, is going as quickly as she can an arm's length behind her, cheeks cherry-red and breath coming in gasps as she struggles and fails to hold pace with her elder sister.

Really, for all intents and purposes, eight cannot compete with twelve.

"I'm coming, Susan! I'm—I'm trying, I am!"

Pity for her little sister surges through the black-haired girl, and she wishes they could just _stop _already. She knows Lucy cannot last much longer, certainly not nearly as long as she, and she is immensely proud of her sister for keeping on as long as she has.

"I'm sorry, Lu. I know. You're faring brilliantly, dear." She prays her sister doesn't hear the tears in her voice, suspecting she doesn't when the young one smiles bravely, forgivingly.

"It's all right—!" The voice cuts off again due to shortness of breath, and Susan squeezes her sister's hand just as Lucy does hers. Such has been a thing of theirs since they were little, but they hadn't enacted it in years; Susan is touched that Lucy even remembers it, young as she was when they started, and Lucy's loving face appears to convey the same.

"Hurry! We've found somewhere—!" The sudden wind sucks away the rest of the words from Mrs. Beaver's mouth, but what is heard is enough. Susan and Lucy run with a renewed vigor, regained hope and resolve, and they follow the Beavers to a small hill to their right.

Susan watching skeptically while Lucy seems delighted, Mr. Beaver enters a burrow through some kind of tunnel, one low to the ground and about Peter's size around.

"It's all right! We'll be a bit cramped, but it's warm and dry! Better than bein' Wolf bait or freezing' our tails off, anyhow!"

At the last part, the three women laugh, Susan with less humor than the others, but she can't be blamed, not while her brothers' well beings are on her mind. Letting Lucy go before her as Mrs. Beaver gestures them both forward, she gives a minute, distracted smile while waiting, and then crawls through; she uncharacteristically doesn't notice when a good bit of dirt—as the inside of the abandoned burrow's entrance hasn't been touched by the white curse known as snow—smudges her cheek.

Settling down inside the cave beside her sister, the little girl grabs hold of her hand and squeezes. She understands. She's worried about them, too. Even then, she pushes her anxieties aside and chooses to listen intently to Mr. Beaver as he begins to tell a story to keep them all entertained.

Susan, try as she might, cannot pay attention.

Peter and Edmund… Are they all right?

Peter had sacri—_given _of himself to see them in good health at his own expense, and she tries to push down the sensations of helplessness and self-doubt coursing through her veins. Without her brother here, her ever-constant confidant, she feels…out of place, out of _touch_.

And she _hates _it.

Suppressing the shiver seeking to travel up her back, she reflects on Edmund now. Ever since his first time at boarding school last year at the age of nine, he's never been the same. He's become paler, started coming home for holidays with bruises and cuts littering his body, and behaving worse than he has since he was a mere toddler. Sure, he'd been rude and picked on Lucy prior to going away to school, but this year, he's gotten progressively worse.

And now…

What he's done hasn't entirely settled in yet—from the Beavers' and Lucy's reactions, it's pretty terrible, though (and even this seems to be an understatement)—and she is afraid she won't be able to accept it when it does. Betrayal of friends is bad enough, but of family, of a _brother_…

Being an enormously practical girl, she can't stand such irrational thinking, but it would make her a hypocrite if she were to say she weren't breaking her own rule for a reason. A very good, very _important _one, at that.

She loves her brother dearly—_both _of them, she amends—and though one of them has committed himself to protecting and the other to exacting revenge, she _loves _them.

Glancing to her left, she gazes into the wonder-wide, exhilarated face of her sister, hand still clasped in the child's now warm palm, and she loves her, too.

Pulling Lucy into her lap, the eight-year-old situates herself to rest mostly against Susan's chest, her head underneath the older girl's chin, legs stretched out before them as Susan's are properly tucked beneath her.

Lucy's body heat enlivening her still-cool skin, Susan is finally able to let go of her reservations, if only for a while, and listen to the story that has her youngest sibling so enraptured.

* * *

_A/N:_ Thanks for reading, as always!


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